From the Frontlines and Back
by Ramonks33
Summary: AU: June 6th, 1918. It's World War One, and Jason Grace is off into battle while his sweetheart, Piper Mclean, is sitting at home, waiting for him. Their relationship has never been stronger. But when an artillery shell disables him badly, he worries if their love can survive, from the frontlines and back.[Jasper] Rated T for violence. Cover art by Viria
1. Chapter 1

From the Frontlines and Back

**A/N: Hello! So, I'm writing this with special, special help from a great friend. He's brilliant, actually. Since this is AU, don't go yelling at me that it's inaccurate. IT'S AU FOR GOD'S SAKE. Please, enjoy!**

**PROLOGUE:**

JASON'S POV  
June 6, 1918. Belleau Wood. His heart hammered against his rib cage. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and down his forehead. His helmet chin strap was too tight. He was itchy. He felt sick. But he couldn't stop now. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins as he lay in the tall grass on the side of the Paris-Mentz highway. His Springfield rifle was in his hands. He was gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. His long and sharp bayonet was attached to the end, ready to stab. To harm. To kill. His name was Jason Grace; he was a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. He was 22 years old. Originally born in England in 1896, his family moved to the United States in 1905. He had been drafted into the 6th Marine infantry regiment just a year earlier. At the time, the United States was going to declare war on Germany, and officially enter World War One.

Now here he was. He had left everything behind. His family, his friends, and his sweetheart, his love, Piper McLean. She sat at home in her warm house. While he was out here, getting shot at. Seeing men die; and experiencing horrors no man should ever see. He wanted to put his rifle down and leave. He had no business harming and killing men whom he had no quarrel with. He hated it. But he would be a traitor if he hadn't. He was doing this for not only Piper, but for the protection of both the United States, and United Kingdom. He had always had an instinct to protect, and to lead. It was the essence of his very being.

Explosions were ringing in his ears. Sounds of gunfire and mortars and artillery shells were raining down on the French troops as they retreated right towards them, warning them to retreat. Captain Lloyd Williams refused. He rallied up his men, and sent them on a wild bayonet charge into the hell that awaited them. The first few waves were slaughtered with machine gun fire. Bullet's whistled past Jason's helmet, blood sprayed up and spattered his hands and face. Dirt and grime covered his uniform. He jumped into a crater, taking cover. The screams of men mixed with the sickening crack of bones and sloshing sounds that made him want to throw up was all he could hear. He ran out of the crater, with other men next to him as the regiment surged forward. Soon, they were locked in a brutal battle with the Germans.

Fighting tooth and nail. Trench clubs and knives were used. Bayonets pierced skin and bullets broke bones and destroyed internal organs. More blood sprayed up into his face. He became locked in a hand to hand fight with other German, fists and feet were flying every which way, almost always finding their mark. Jason's helmet had been knocked off, now. So had the German man's. It was easier without it, anyway. The German tackled him, beginning to pound his face relentlessly with his fists. Jason reached for a nearby trench club, and smacked the German man hard in the side of the head with it. There was a loud crunch as his skull was broken. Blood sprayed from his lips and he fell, dead. Jason picked up his rifle and jumped into the trench that was filled with Marines and Germans all locked in battle. His hands and rifle was slick with blood, he was seeing red.

The Germans began to retreat. Leaving their weapons behind then ran from the trenches covered in blood and grime shouting to each other in German. The Marines followed suit, yelling at the top of their lungs as they charged. That's when the artillery hit. It rained down like fire from above, he could only hear the deafening roar of explosives as they slammed into the ground, sending dirt, blood, pieces of uniforms and rifles, and even bits of bone flying every which way. His eyes stung from sweat, he felt sharp pains in his right side from bits of shrapnel hitting him. But he couldn't stop now. Not when they were so close to winning. They followed suit deeper into the woods, everyone was spread out by now, to avoid massive casualties if an artillery shell landed near them. Suddenly, a shell exploded a few hundred feet in front of him. Body parts and equipment flew in every direction. The men in front had been turned into nothing but a red mist. Slowly dissolving in the air. Fewer men were around him. And suddenly, one exploded next to him. A safe distance away to not kill him, and enough to wound.

A blinding pain seared through his right leg and the upper part of his body. He was thrown like a ragdoll into a crater. He lay there, panting, moaning in pain. He looked down at his leg. It looked like hell. A large piece of shrapnel was protruding from his thigh, and blood was beginning to pool around him. He laid back, squeezing his eyes shut as tears flooded his vision. But he forced them down. He would not cry. Piper suddenly appeared in his mind. Her smiling face. Her beautiful, but uneven and choppy hair in braids. His heart began to hurt at the thought of her having to go on without him. Black spots were dancing across his vision, now. His last thought was of Piper waiting for him to come back. Writing letters to him, in which were never replied to. His vision faded to black; and he knew nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter two

**PIPER'S POV:**

August 6th, 1918. She wiped her hands frantically on a cloth, her hand dried out from doing the dishes that were so little. Her ears strained to hear the sound of the post coming in, but to no avail. Her neck was covered in sweat from a rough day of chores around her house, though there was no one but her. She had been sick with worry all day, as she followed the normal checklist of chores: Bring the laundry in, prepare dinner for herself and clean the house afterwards, perhaps write a letter to Thalia, ask how she was doing. That was the normal life for Piper Mclean, 21, of Tristan Mclean, for the last year, ever since the 1917, when Jason Grace, her love, was drafted into the 6th Marine infantry regiment.

She had been writing letters to him most of her free time, asking how he was doing. Telling him stories about Thalia and herself, how the weather was in their town, and most importantly, how much she loved him. It ached to see the words of her lover etched on worn paper, but it redeemed her all the same, to know that he was alive and somewhat well, and that he still loved her. He would respond to her letters in a simpler, concise style, but his details about the battles were horrific. He had fought many great battles, and the last letter he had sent her was about the upcoming mission in Belleau Woods. It was sent June 1st, 1918. That was nearly two months ago. Since then, Piper had been worried sick about him every day. Days, hours, and seconds just thinking about him. Why he hadn't returned yet. She fantasized him walking into her house, a bright smile on his face. His face would be alit with happiness as she would rush into his arms, but she also knew there was a slight chance that might never happen. That he might never come home to her.

She was startled as she heard a rough hand knock upon the front door. A letter, perhaps? She hiked her long, elegant skirt up, and rushed towards the door. She nervously smoothed her choppy hair down with her hand, before twisting the doorknob and opening the door. She bit her lip in anxiety, but was even more worried so when she saw a man in an army uniform. He had a grim look upon his face, mesmerizing sea blue eyes looking into her own kaleidoscope eyes.

"Miss Mclean?" he asked roughly, as though he was dreading her answer.

"Yes, that would be me…" she said worriedly, folding her hands together, silently praying to the Unnamed God. That Jason would be okay. That he would be alive. That he'd be coming home and he wouldn't have to go back. Their entire future was at stake.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am." He said, his eyes shining with despair and sorrow. He pulled off his cap, showing a mess of black hair, mussed up by the cap. He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a handwritten letter, addressed to _Piper Mclean._

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Mclean." The man said, as she took the letter from him with trembling hands. "I really am."  
Quietly, he swept his cap back on, and turned his foot around to leave her standing there with the letter. She watched the soldier go, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded her. She tried to hold it together before returning back into her house, and shutting the door firmly, echoing inside the house. It reminded her she might be alone, like this, forever.

Striding over to an armchair by a brass lamp, she started the lamp up, before opening the letter slowly, her mind filled with dread. Was Jason coming home, or was she forever on her own? She bit her lip as she slid the letter out of the envelope, and began to read.

_Dear Miss Mclean, We are sorry to inform you that Jason Grace has been killed in action. His last remains will not be able to be sent to you. However, his belongings will. Please take note they are to be in worn condition. Also enclosed, is a letter from Army Captain Lloyd Williams, who was in charge of his regiment at the time. _

The personal written letter from Captain Williams followed. The paper was worn and the handwriting was shaky and scratchy, but readable.

_Dear Miss Piper McLean, I regret to inform you that Jason Grace was killed in the line of duty on June 6, 1918. I was only put in charge of his regiment for a short time, in order to push back the remaining German forces. I never knew him, however, whenever I saw him he always had a smiling face. Jason was the one who kept everyone together in the toughest of times. However, in spite of this, I firmly believe that God has gained a great angel in the kingdom of Heaven. His sacrifice will not be in vain. He died protecting freedom, and he died protecting not only you, but the rest of the world._  
_Take care and God bless you,_  
_Captain Lloyd Williams, United States Army_

_Her mind didn't seem to understand the concept._ Jason, dead? No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Shock overtook her as she sat there in the chair, staring off wildly into space. Jason couldn't be dead. He couldn't. He was a fighter, and he had promised her…He promised her! He promised he'd come home, and they'd have children and that they'd be able to live happily ever after, just like in the stories her father used to tell her.

She felt tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes, salty and hot. They ran down her skin, and dropped onto her skirt, the tears being absorbed by the fabric. A draft seemed to envelope herself in its arms, as she began to cry. Cry for the love that was lost. Beg for the truth to be false, and pray, just pray, that he had survived somehow. That there was still a way for them.  
She remembered the first time she saw him in his army uniform, decked up and ready for battle. Then, she had cried as well. Remembering that he could as well never come home, and he had wrapped her in his protective arms, whispering that he'd come home. That nothing could break that promise that he'll come home on that train, no matter what.

"Promise me, Pipes…" he whispered in her ears that day, and she remembered the words he had said, "Promise me you'll wait for me. Cause nothing in hell or heaven can stop me from coming home to you. I love you."

She began to cry in anguish, burying her face in her hands. Had he broken that promise? She hadn't. She was still waiting. And she will wait a millennium for him, waiting couldn't be all that bad. She was going to wait for him, no matter what. But he broke his promise to her that he would come home. The proof was written in ink, and stamped in her hands. She loves him, and if she could just close here eyes once more, she could see him, his arms around her once more. Protecting her from the hell she lived in. She had a dream they could be together, that love could surpass everything. Had she been naïve enough to think that the world will be merciful? He had slept the horrors by her side, and spent days in his endless wonder. But it all went wrong. Hell and high water shall come, but nothing could ever break her heart like this, when she finally accepted the hell ridden truth: Jason Grace was not coming home.

She could still dream, though. That he'll be on that train leading to her heart, that he'll be alive and well. Maybe, if she just dreamed hard enough, she'll wake up to his arms around her, his warmth protecting them both. Jason had always been a protector, she should have known better. It was him who protected her from the grasps of many men less worthy. It was him who had grasped her hand and told her she'd be okay. The first of many to tell her she was beautiful because of who she was. He had promised throughout the war, that they would remain, though they were both sinners and saints. How could she have been so blind, to believe that he would come back uninjured, or more or less in one piece?

She held her head in her hands as she cried, her sobs of anguish echoing through the empty house. Empty chairs where she would hold his hand. The bed would be colder without his arms around her, and the night would attack her day after day, without him to protect her. She wished he could come home.

"You promised…" she whispered brokenly into her hands, her eyes tinged red.

"YOU PROMISED ME, JASON!" she screamed to herself. She let out a scream of sorrow, echoing the loss that was inside her. Her heart had stopped beating, perhaps. She wouldn't be able to love once more, without him. She knew it was all in her mind, that the imagination of a child was taking her mind, but she couldn't help it. She begged and pleaded that he'd come home, to the Unnamed God who had apparently taken care of them, that had apparently promise peace over the world. Where was that Unnamed God now.

If she dreamed she could reach him, it was almost enough. But sooner or later, she wondered the truth is, almost would never be enough, as long as her heart still ticked. Which it didn't. She slammed her fist into the wooden table, sobs wracking her body like a hurricane. Nothing will ever be the same. Her heart had been with him at the frontlines, and now, it was wrecked and turned and weak. Because he was no longer there to protect it.

**JASON'S POV**

Turns out, Jason was not dead. He was very much alive. A few hours after the artillery shell had thrown him into a crater with his right leg torn open, he had been found by French troops whom were coming back to reinforce the woods.

One man had noticed the soft rise and fall of his chest, and checked for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. His leg had miraculously stopped bleeding.

He was young, and he was fairly healthy; which is what caused his survival of the ordeal. He was unconscious for nearly a week. The doctors didn't think he would wake up. But Jason Grace was not one to give up so easily.

His first thought as he awoke was "Wow...I'm alive?" and then it hit him. Of course he was alive. Then his mind began to wander. Like he was forgetting something. Then Piper's face swam into view. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Now he could go home. Now he would be able to see her. They could be happy...That was before he found out about his leg.

Once he was able to stay awake for longer periods of time, the fevers hit. He was plagued with high fevers and nightmares which nearly drove him over the edge. But he held on. The shrapnel had been removed. Well, most of it. Some of it was just too tedious to remove. Small bits would always be in his leg and on his side. However, it wouldn't be too bad. His leg was giving him hell, though. It hurt too much. It caused him to be in almost constant blinding white hot pain. They nearly overdosed him on morphine.

Eventually, about a month later, a doctor came up to him. He expected the regular routine. Check up on his vitals and temperature, a bandage change, they would examine his leg, and it would be fine. However, this time, it was different. The doctor spoke near perfect English. It was a relief, really. Hearing your own language again and such.

The doctor's voice was solemn. "Monsieur Jason Grace, is it?" the doctor asked. "I am Doctor Pierre, and I have been keeping watch on your leg ever since they brought you here. I am sorry, Monsieur, to tell you that your upper thigh has fallen victim to a condition known as acute muscle death." he said solemnly.

Acute muscle death. He let the words bounce around in his head for a second. "What is that..?" he asked, his voice cracking a little from disuse. He had no idea what acute muscle death was; but he knew immediately that it had to do with his leg.

Doctor Pierre took a deep breath. He would explain from the beginning. "Due to your young age, most of the major veins in your leg were able to close themselves off to avoid bleeding out. You still lost a lot of blood, and had we not found you, you would have died." He explained, and then he stopped for a second; thinking of what to say next. Jason just stared. Letting the words sink in. Hoping the inevitable truth was not what he thought. That they did not have to amputate his leg.

"Blood flow had been nearly cut off for a long time. We didn't know how long you were there," Pierre stopped and cleared his throat a little nervously. "But an infection set in as well. The muscle in your right thigh died due to blood flow being cut off, and the infection. We were able to remove some of the muscle, so it wouldn't pain you as much, but the war is over for you, Monsieur." He told Jason, and then reached over to pat his shoulder.

"You are one of the luckier ones." He assured Jason. Jason nodded a little. "I guess I am.." he replied. Doctor Pierre forced a small smile.

"Once you are well enough to walk, you will have to use a cane. You're staying here until you fully recover. A letter was sent back home to inform your family that you are alive; although, I do not know if it has reached them."

Jason thought for a moment. Excitement and happiness bubbling inside him. He could go home when he was better. He could see his family. His friends. Piper. He could see Piper; and she was really all he cared to think about, now. He wondered how she was doing, how life had been for her. But he knew he would return home soon; and that she would be waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter 3

**JASON'S POV**  
It's been a month since he was told about the condition of his leg. A month since his life was changed drastically. The French doctor, Pierre, had given him a wooden cane at the beginning of the month; and was helping Jason to walk with it.

He also took a look at his leg for the first time. Pierre had slowly and carefully removed the wrappings to reveal his almost mangled leg. Little scars from shrapnel ran up and down his entire leg. Not too much, however.

The real injury was his upper thigh. A long jagged wound ran along it, stretching from the top of his thigh, almost to his knee.

It looked awful, of course. It was angry and red from where he was still fighting off the infection, and it was unbearably itchy.

They had been able to stitch the wound so it was almost closed. In time, it would be better. That doesn't mean it still didn't look like it had been put through a wood chipper.

The injury would take months to heal completely; but the wound that lay underneath the skin never would be fixed.

His name was Jason Grace. He was 22 years old. He was a cripple.

Here he was, in a pair of light blue flannel pajamas, in a French military hospital in Paris; sitting up with his back against the pillows, writing yet another letter to Piper.

He was trying to apologize for the scare. Apologize because he had left her. Just apologize for everything, really. He didn't care if the letters could not be sent. He was writing them anyway.

He sighed softly, reaching up to rub his chin lightly. Feeling the dark stubble around it from lack of shaving. Who cared about shaving in this place, anyway?

He jumped a little as he heard a soft knock at the door. He was always jumpy, even now, away from the frontlines. He hoped to God he wouldn't be like this forever. "Come in." he called.

As usual, Doctor Pierre came in with his clipboard and pen. "Doing well today, Monsieur Grace?" he asked, beginning to pull the blankets down so he could examine Jason's bad leg.

"Yes sir." Jason replied. "I'm feeling great today." he forced a small smile. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten any teeth knocked out in the fighting.

"Good..." Pierre mumbled, recording things down on his clip board. Then, they began the regular routine. Pierre poking and prodding and moving his leg around asking if anything hurt.

Oh Pierre, of course it did. Sure, it wasn't as bad as before, but it still pained Jason a quite a bit.

Once he was finished, Jason pulled his pajama pants and the blanket back up and sighed softly. Pierre looked at him for a moment, and then smiled sadly. "It will be tough, Monsieur Grace. But you will make it. We will allow you to leave for home soon."

'Soon' felt like an eternity.

Two weeks later he was up and out of bed. He wasn't in his dress uniform, however. His dress uniform had been taken. Probably shipped home.

As for his combat uniform and equipment? It had all been burned. It was so filthy and bloody that no amount of washing would ever get everything out.

It had smelled bad, too. His equipment had probably been given to another soldier who needed it. He didn't carry any personal belongings, but the picture of Piper he had taken with him was lost. Probably burned with the uniform.

He was dressed in a simple suit, the most Americanized one they could find, at least. He was clutching his cane tight in his right hand, leaning heavily on it. It hurt like hell to walk, however, this walking was worth it.

He was going to meet the Commandment of the Marine Corps, Major General George Barnett, for his honorable discharge papers.

When he saw the older man, he immediately switched his cane to his left hand, and his right hand shot straight up to his brow in a salute. The commander saluted back, shook his hand, and handed him the papers. "You've done well, son. Live long and prosper." he said.

Then, he suddenly turned, and reached into the military car to pull out three medals. He held them in one hand, and looked Jason in the eyes.

"Today. You are receiving not only your discharge papers, but a few medals as well. One is awarded by the French government and one by the American government." he said, and smiled softly.

He pinned the first one, the French one, on, calling it the 'French Croix de Guerre'. The next medal was the American one, awarded for outstanding military service in defense against an enemy of the United States.

Both medals were pinned up to his left breast pocket on the undershirt he had over the suit jacket. Jason shook the general's hand firmly, and gave a final salute, that of which was returned to him. The general left without another word.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face he had two new medals to the ones he already had. He was officially discharged from the Marine Corps, and he was going home.

Only time would tell the kind of hell both home and Piper would have to go through once he got him. Without having to be focused on getting better anymore, or wondering if he would make it or not, his mind would slowly, but surely, begin to focus on the war. The combat. The men whom had died at his hands. The bloodshed and hell he experienced while he was deployed for that one year.

May God have mercy on his soul.

Later that day, he said goodbye to Pierre. That man who had helped him get through the condition in his leg would never be forgotten. Jason would be forever thankful that he had met Pierre. He knew nothing else about him. Not even a last name.

The ride to the train station was silent; mostly because he knew very little French. His task of getting home would be tedious.

Well, not tedious, but dangerous; due to possible German submarines in the ocean.

He was going to be dropped off in Normandy, take a ship across the English channel to England, and then take a ship to New York.

Once he was in New York, he would be safe. He had his few belongings in a bag, and more than enough Pounds and Francs to make it back home.

Once they got to the train station, the driver opened his door and watched as Jason struggled to get out, but he made it. Barely.

He handed Jason his bag, gave him a farewell, and left without another word.

Jason stared up at the building. He already had his ticket, he just needed to get on. He would be home in no time.

PIPER'S POV

She had dreamed she'd have a better ending then this.

Her bloodshot eyes were flooding with tears once more, as she placed the final belongings of her lover into the empty coffin. The coffin was not full, though. It was all his last possessions that they could gather out of the dim, the last things Jason Grace would ever own. His dress uniform, and Piper could remember how healthy, how handsome he had looked in it. Like a warrior of the Lord. His last medals still hanging proudly, his strength and his commitment earning them. Some spoils or war, silver and gold wedding rings. It hurt Piper to know some other man, or maybe no other man, will ever slide that ring upon her own finger, look her in the eyes and say "I do."  
But what hurt the most, is the turquoise feather that had been hanging carelessly out of the pocket of his dress uniform. She had given it to him, that amazing night before he had been shipped out of town. Slipping it in his pocket, she could've imagined his face as he would dig into his pocket, and find her feather. It was her prized possession, but she gave it to him as a good luck token, a reminder, and a reason to come home. In the end, he didn't.

She stood at the stand, many teary eyed men and women watching her. She could see every face in the church that had gathered to mourn the loss of a brave man. Thalia Grace, his sister. Percy Jackson, the deliverer of the letter and his best friend; the last to see him alive. Leo Valdez, a fellow sniper with him who had also seen his death. And Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano, a woman from his past. There was a pang in Piper's heart as she saw the tears run down her olive skinned face, realizing the both of them had felt as though the end of the world has come.

"Today, we are gathered to mourn the loss of Jason Grace, fellow friend and love, and a man who gave his life to protect us from evil unknown. He may not have said much, but he was a brave man, a loyal friend, and a fighter," the priest says, and gestures to Piper. Her uneven and choppy hair was pulled back in a braid, her face somewhat blotchy, but still beautiful either way. Jason had always told her how it was her imperfections that made her beautiful, "And we are joined by Miss Mclean, his long time lover, who will say a few words about the loss she has burdened."

The priest stepped aside as Piper stood at the stand, taking a deep breath. She had not prepared a speech, but had a mind or two on what she will say when she was to be called. She knew she would be, but it was still unnerving. She looked down, praying a silent prayer to the Lord before her strong voice began to echo her thoughts.

"Jason…Oh, Jason." She began, sighing a bit, "He was…one of the best men I ever knew. I sometimes believe he was an angel sent from the Lord to protect all of us from the Axis…he made all of us feel worthwhile…and…I never could express, how much I love him. I still do, and I know somewhere, up there…"

She pauses for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling. If she could just imagine hard enough, she could see him in his army uniform, nodding for her to go on. If only her imagination was reality.

"He's…he's still there. Watching all of us. He was…a protector…a friend…a soldier…and brave. So…so brave…and I will continue to love him, and I know you will too…because we will mourn when a good man goes to war."

…..

The burial was short and bittersweet. It had begun to rain as they brought the coffin to the hole dug for Jason Grace. The spectators crammed around the small headstone, and it was Percy and Leo, tears shining in their eyes, who lowered the last possessions into the grave. Many things began to be thrown into the grave as it was lowered. Letters, roses, silver and gold were all thrown in, to join the last memories as they were to be buried in the ground. Percy and Leo blinked back tears, as a hymn began to echo around the grave, the oldest hymn anyone knew. It had been Jason's favorite when he went to church with Piper.

"_Amazing Grace…how sweet the sound…_

_That saved a wretch like me…"_

Piper closed her eyes as many men and women began to sing, bursting into tears before the first two lines were over. Women would bury their heads into their significant other's shoulder, while the children would clutch their mother's hand. Piper closed her own eyes as she sang along, barely audible in the pounding rain that had begun. The water hit everyone in lengthy sheets, but they sang on, respecting the lost hero.

"_I once was lost…but now I'm found_

_Was blind…but now, I see"_

After the final words, most of them began to disperse, leaving Piper to stand alone at the face of the gravestone. The dirt was packed over the coffin, and now, the words on the gravestone were as bold as the sun against the silver-white stone.

_HERE LIES JASON GRACE_

_Beloved son, brother and love, died for our nation.  
John 15: 13  
Greater love has no one then this, that he lay down his life for his friends.  
1896-1918._

Against the rain, the words were as sharp as metal, as shining as silver. Piper let the rain coat her dark dress and choppy hair, reminding her of the hell that she now lived. There will no longer be sun without him, or hope or any point in living. Because he wasn't there to share every moment, to share every bit of love she could ever give. She didn't want him to go. She kneeled in front of the gravestone, her dress digging into the softly dug grave, before she buried her face in her hands, and began to cry. How could he do this to her. How could he ever die without her by his side. Why did he have to be so noble, so brave? Of course, Piper knew that answer. He was a natural born heroic. He was to live, to fight, and to die. Not love. Love breaks and destroys and kills. It killed him. And it destroyed her inside. Her heart was barely ticking, as she continued to cry into her hands, sobs shaking her body in the sullen rain. She could never be able to have the children she wanted, where they would be either olive skinned and blue eyed, or blonde with her eyes. They wouldn't be able to hold her hand as she would tell those stories about their father. How could fate be so cruel to rip away a future that they haven't even had yet, that she had so long dreamed and asked for?

All she had asked was for him to be with her, to be with her as long as the sun shone and the moon rises in the sky. All she had dreamed for, ever since she was a little girl, was a happy ending. She had dreamed he'd be the one to see her completely for who she is. To see his face light up as she would walk down the wedding aisle. Before he left, they had always talked about how he wished the war wouldn't come so quickly, so they could get married. He had even proposed to her beforehand, but she politely refused, saying they should wait, because it wasn't fair she'd be able to have him for a few more weeks before he'd be ripped away from her as quickly as she had found him. The way he had nodded disappointingly, but he had joked with her, saying he'd buy his engagement ring in a nice store in Germany, after he had mowed down the Germans. It had just been a happy dream she would have. She'd grow to be a mother, and they'd have one girl and one boy, of peace in the world, and the love of her life in her arms for as long as her breath remained. To have him take her to every party solely because she wanted to dance. It was a dream that had died with him in the frontlines.

Now life has killed the dream she had dreamed.


	4. Chapter 4

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter 4

JASON'S POV  
He was jolted awake by the train. Wait. That had been the train, right? Wrong.

Jason had been sleeping peacefully in his first class seat on the train that was taking him to Normandy, his head against the window. He had been resting somewhat peacefully.

The sky was gray with storm clouds, and rain was beginning to pound against the windows.

But that's not what had woke him up. The lighting and thunder had.

The flash of lighting lit up the dark gray sky, and he immediately jumped, his eyes flying open as he looked around wildly for cover.

It took him a second, and he was confused, but then he realized that he was on a train. Not in the trenches.

His mind had immediately registered the flash of lighting as the flash of an artillery shell as it hurtled towards the trench he could have been in.

He shuddered lightly at the thought, and pulled his overcoat a little tighter around him. He glanced down at the wooden cane that sat in his lap and sighed softly.

He had fallen victim to a condition known as Acute Muscle Death, due to shrapnel from an artillery explosion.

The muscle in his right thigh had been destroyed, but not only that, it had also become infected. The muscle died and they cut part of it out to save him some of the pain.

Pain. It was becoming a regular thing, now. It ached in his leg. A slight dull throb that would always be there. Or so he thought. Maybe it would end up going away in time.

Or, maybe not. Hopefully it would.

Jason reached a shaky hand down to rub his thigh. Wait. Shaky? Sure enough, his hand was shaking. Come to think of it, he was shaking all over.

He sighed softly, forcing his hand to stop. Well. It kind of stopped. But it still shook softly. He sighed, shaking his head a little, wincing at the pain in his leg. He could get his morphine when he got home. It was supposed to help with the pain; and it would.

He straightened up and checked his pocket watch. It read 1800 hours. Six o'clock in the evening. Surely Normandy had to be close?

He winced again as a clap of thunder shook the windows of the train car. Well, it was more of a jump than a wince. His hand flew up to keep his helmet from being whisked off his head by the shell concussion.

He always hated shell concussions. Just a huge wave of air that flew out in all directions after an explosion. If you were close enough, it hurt. Bad. It usually blew your helmet off, too. The air being forced up under your helmet was too much for it to stay on your head.

But what about the chin straps? That's what they're there for, right? No. You never wore your chin straps. If you did, the concussion from an artillery shell would most likely tear your head off. A lesson he had learned very quickly.

Then he realized he wasn't on the battlefield. He leaned back, letting his head lean back against the headrest. What would Piper think of this? He shook his head. He had to stop that.

But the reality was, he couldn't. The memory of explosions and artillery and gunfire had been engraved into his mind. He would never react the way a normal person would again. His mind would always scream _"Take cover! Take cover!"_ every time he heard a loud clap of thunder. Or a gunshot, and the like.

He closed his eyes, forcing his body to relax a little, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

When Jason awoke again, the train was coming to a stop. The rain had continued to pour. It was nearly two in the morning, now. He grabbed his cane and shakily stood up, and grabbed his bag as well, and he slowly made his was off the train.

His stomach growled; and he longed for the taste of home. A 24 ounce New York Strip would have done him well. But he wasn't in home in New York. He was on foreign land. Therefore, he would have to eat things their way.

He found a small Café, and went in. Time to figure out how to order things in French. Piper was full blown fluent in the French language, and had taught him some. Just in case he ever needed it. He never thought he would have to use it.

He was thankful, now, that Piper had taught him the little bit of French he understood. He sat down at a small table, with difficulty from his leg. A waiter immediately came up to him. "Bonjour, Monsieur!" said the waiter. "Bonjour." answered Jason.

"Est-ce que vous manger?" the waiter asked. Jason's mind went blank. He blinked rapidly a few times, trying to remember. "Uh...Je m'excuse. Je suis Américain..." Jason stopped for a second. "Je...Je voudrais..." The Frenchman cut him off. Immediately understanding. Jason was an American fighting to help defend France.

The waiter left quickly, and then came back with a large platter of an assortment of food. The very best for a soldier who was standing up in defense of France. Jason sat in denial for a second. "Merci..." he said softly to the waiter, and the waiter left.

Jason ate quickly, but he wished he hadn't. The food was rich, full of flavor. Well, all French food he had tasted was. One nearly ate himself sick, and before he left, he laid all of the Francs he had been given on the table.

The government of France needed it more than he did. He probably wouldn't need it any longer, anyway. Jason left soon after.

He was sitting on one of the balconies on the ship, now. Surrounded by English families and French families alike. He had made light conversation with the English families.

He told them America would be better. That they would get what they were hoping for. That he knew by experience because he held a dual citizenship with both the United States and the United Kingdom.

They had asked him so many questions. He had answered so many of them.

That was until they asked about his leg.

It was almost...Unnerving to be asked about his leg. He nearly yelled at them. But, instead, he had cleared his throat and explained that he got it in the war.

He didn't go into detail.

It angered him, almost. Can't they pay attention so something _besides_ his leg? Apparently not. Then his anger faded. They hadn't known. They were just curious. He shouldn't be angry. But he was. But he shouldn't be. What the hell was wrong with him?

These past few weeks, he had severe changes in mood. He didn't understand why. Bouts of anger would suddenly roll on him in waves. He wanted to go back on the frontlines and kill. And wound. And hurt.

But he was Jason Grace. He wasn't supposed to act like this. So what was wrong with him? Why didn't he feel comfortable in his own skin? Why did he feel guilty? Why was he in denial?

He never knew.

What he didn't know, was that he had a mental condition that all soldiers and marines like him had. Back in the 1860's they had called it the 'Soldier's Heart'. Now, here in 1918, it was known as Shell Shock.

Recovery would not be easy with his declined mental state.

Five days later, they had sailed into port. Right into New York, New York. From here, he would take a train to a little town by the name of Bakersfield. There, his long trek home would end. Because he would finally be there.

Jason didn't even stop to eat. He was itching to get home. So see Piper. Piper. She was all he had thought about for the past, what? Three days? Probably.

He exchanged the Pounds he had for Dollars; and bought his train ticket to Bakersfield. He was so close to home he could almost taste it. He had missed it. It was almost culture shock to be back in America. He had been away for too damn long.

Within the hour, he was back on yet another train. Mere minutes on the train felt like lifetimes. He was so eager to get home that it didn't even cross his mind whether or not Piper had gotten the letter telling her he was alive. He could care less, at this point. He hoped, however, that the letter had made it back.

Jason got off the train at the train station. He breathed in the familiar air of the small town. It had been one long year away. He slung his bag over his shoulder, and began to limp heavily on his cane, each step felt like fire shooting up his leg. He wasn't far from the house Piper and him had shared.

About fifteen minutes of walking, and he was standing on their doorstep. It was a relief. He never thought he would see his house again. Much less the oak tree in the back yard or the wide open space behind it. He just stood there for a few minutes, thinking. Working up the nerve to knock on the door.

The door now, was the only thing that separated them. No more oceans and foreign lands apart. This was it.

He reached his shaky hand up, and knocked softly on the door.


	5. Chapter 5

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter 5

_A/N: Because I needed to rant about this, let me just say this to REVIEWERS IN GENERAL: LISTEN UP  
__These are things you never say to an author, and that is say that someone is better then them. It hurts. A lot. It's like telling Michael Jackson he's a terrible dancer or telling a singer she's terrible-how do you think they'll feel? So don't give us, authors in general, shit saying that someone is better cause we'll get discouraged and not want to write and then we just won't write. We could be something great, but you could destroy that in a few words. Don't tell us that. _

PIPER'S POV

Piper wasn't sure if this was the real life or had she died with her heart a long time ago, because this couldn't be true. It just couldn't. She had to blink a few times, going slow, then fast. She had hallucinated a lot in the last few days.

She had hallucinated herself holding a small blonde boy with bright kaleidoscope eyes. She had apparently seen a wedding ring on her finger, and she must be hallucinating now, because Jason Grace was, apparently, standing at her door.

It simply couldn't be true, or she hoped life was playing some cruel trick, because the heartbreak she was facing now was as gargantuan as the universe. This man wasn't Jason Grace.

His temples were grey, his face lined heavily over his brows and under his lips. His blue eyes were duller, and it flickered, like something was begging to get out. He wore a plain brown suit, and on his chest bore two medals, one she knew of and another of the American military.

She turned her head slightly, simply dumbfounded, then confused. She had to know if he was real. She had to.

Her hand slowly glided itself to the curve of his cheek, feeling cool skin under the tips of her fingers. His eyes widened a bit, as she found a guttural sound emerging from the back of her throat. Was it a cry of anger, or sadness? Anger arose in her. Soon enough, she found her hand folding back, and then, she slapped him. Hard.

The shock on his face was evident, as he slowly put a hand to his cheek, where her hand had left a red mark upon his pale skin. He looked hurt, but she found herself slowly breaking, everything inside herself shattering. Her heart was beginning to burst, for it couldn't hold all the hell that she had gone through for days. He was here. How could it be true? He was here. And it only took one word from his mouth, before she wrapped her arms around him tightly, and began to sob into his shoulder.

"Piper…" She felt tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes, as she felt her heart break even more. He was alive and well. He was here beside her. All the letters had not been for nothing, for he was finally, actually, by her side. She stumbled a bit, as she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, and thrust her head upon his chest as the sobs began to choke their way out of her throat.

She could hear his beating heart, so alive and real, and she was sobbing into his chest, soaking the suit with her tears. She felt his own arms wrap around her tightly, and she felt more cries about to escape her lips, before suddenly, they both fell upon the wooden polished floor.

Her head hit the floor with much force, but the impact didn't knock the wind out of her. She struggled to get up, trying to push his weight off of her, before realizing there was a long wooden can lying beside her.

Her hand struggled to reach for it, as she heard Jason murmur, a slight chuckle in his throat, "You know, if you missed me that much, I should go away more often."

She felt the first genuine smile begin to creep upon her face, as her hand slid around the rounded top of the walking stick.. She passed it on to him, and it was moment later she felt his weight lifting off her chest. Quietly, she stood up, and examined his leg closely.

His seemed weaker in a way, and then the horrible, awful, but true fact struck her hard: Jason had been rendered a cripple.

She never knew it could break a man so much. The heart crushing smile that appeared on his face chilled her, as he took a few breaths, obviously exhausted.

Soon enough, she could see tears forming at the corners of his own eyes, and she stepped forward as her shoulder was soon wet with his own tears, one of his hands around her waist, the other on his cane. He murmured apologies, explanations about his leg, and confessions. Deep, sorrowful confessions about his time on the field, about his endless thoughts about her, and his words he couldn't say in the letters.

"I-I'm sorry, Piper…" he murmured, the words emerging between gasps and snivels, "I-I…They told you…I was dead…didn't they...?"

Her slow nod brought her own tears, but they were tears of both relief, and sadness. How could you be happy and heartbroken at the same time? She could not fret anymore, but she could not retain her sadness, either.

The endless tears and prayers for the lie to be a lie, the images she had conjured of him begin killed in devastation, and here he was in her arms for good. She was not going to let him go now. She couldn't let him go now, not that she almost lost him from the war. The war that had thought to break her heart and throw it down a hole and bombed, but it could never be recovered now. Not even now, when he was back in her arms. They would never be the same again.

Piper knew of the abuse veterans from the war suffered, the way they would be teased and called cowards for returning after a serious injury: Cripples had it the worst. They would tripped and teased by regular men and women who had never realized the costs of living so free were so high, and they would be called the usual names: Gimp, useless, cripple, coward…Jason was none of these things.

He would never be any of these things.

Because she wouldn't let him, for one moment, think he was one of these names that had been sputtered out of the mouths of idiots.

He was hers to protect, and hers to love. Love brought people pleasure and love brought people pain. It had brought both to Piper, yet in the end, love had saved the only thing that kept her steps on this earth.

"Piper…I won't be the same-" his voice broke into her thoughts. She didn't move his head from her shoulder, and god forbid would she pull away from the broken man, "…I'm a cripple…I…I won't be the same, Pipes…"

"D-don't say that…" her words came softly, emerging straight from her heart, "You're still Jason Grace…and it's hard enough for me to deal with the fact you're still alive…" She inhaled sharply, the fact that he was alive and well was still foreign to her system, and her body was still recovering from the shock.

"Piper…I can't even walk without a support…" he moaned sadly. Pulling back from her embrace, she could see his bright blue eyes turned bloodshot, a grim look on his face. "I've been rendered near useless.." Jason stopped. His mind going back to the happy times they had before the war. Him running up to her and picking her up by her waist and spinning her around as they laughed. He squeezed his eyes shut. They sure wouldn't be doing that again.

"Shut up," she replied sharply. "Jason, look at me." She turned his head to face hers, his eyes boring into her own. Those eyes. They could affect anybody and everybody, even herself. They told a story, they did.

The story of a man who had nearly died for his country, who's injury made him stronger than most peacekeepers. Who defied the laws of death and life because he had someone to live for, someone to hold on to.

Someone who's living hell could be told in just one look.

Her hand rested upon his cheek, a she placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder, blinking away the tears. He already had tears sliding down his face, and it was sure enough, everything he would ever feel now all depended on the words she would choose to say. But that didn't matter, because she knew she would love him. She knew her love for him was massive, and that she knew that he wouldn't ever leave her alone again. The war had broken them, creating a bond so strong that it could reach across oceans, planets, even galaxies. And no one, not even the Germans, can take it away, when they've taken so many things from them.

Her sense of security, her confidence, and her love. But they can't change her now, when she's suffered such pain already.

"I don't care that you're injured. I don't care that you...you are scared of most things now." The words tumbled out of her mouth as though her throat has been waiting to release these words ever since the day she was born, "What I do care about is that I'll be right by your side, waiting for you. Cause I know, and you know too, that nothing will be the same…but I do love you."

"Pipes…" Jason's voice filled the silence.

"Just hold me now, you idiot," her broken tone finally being shown, and the gentle smile that had curved upon his lips told her he had understood the truth, the truth about how she knew. About how she felt about him, and that nothing in this mortal world will break them, "And let it be."

He compromised, wrapping his arms around her, but a sharp gasp of pain escapes him as he leans into her. She could feel his grip weaken, as he desperately grabbed for his cane. Instead, as he regained his position, she felt his other arm slip through her own, and she turned her head, finding a saddened smile where she had known many other looks to be on his lips. "Piper…Can you promise me something?"

"Course."

"Can you…catch me…if I fall…" his words were slow and gruesome, and she was afraid he would say something that would break her completely, "Cause…I'm falling right now."

"I will always catch you," she promised, as she helped him shrug off his over coat, and hung it on her coat rack.

They slowly walked together as she repeated her promise, as though it was an ancient vow she could not break, "I promise. Together we stand, together we fall."

They slowly limped together to the room they shared, with the king sized bed, where she had slept alone for a year. Here, they could be with each other once more, and when he fell upon the soft mattress, she fell right beside him.

A gentle smile crossed her lips as she brought the covers up to their chins, and she felt him pull her into his own arms, herself fitting into him like a missing puzzle piece. A few tears escaped her eyes as he held her close, his breathing beginning to match hers. She gently moved her head so it was right over his heartbeat, hearing it beat ever so gently. It just kept beating. Ticking. Ticking like a clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Piper…"

"Yes, Jason?"

She heard him sigh softly, and turned her head, to find his lips landing on her forehead gently. Warmth seemed to spread inside her body as he kissed her forehead softly, before she nuzzled his cheek slightly. She wrapped her arms around him gently, as the moon rose in the distance. The moonlight shone into her bedroom, and she didn't care it was glaring into her eyes, or that the curtains were open just a bit.

It all didn't matter anymore. She whispered his name, the truth becoming clear now. He was alive and well. He hadn't let the way change him. He had braved many weathers, and the pain that he had endured during the war had broken him, and it couldn't be fixed. But this time, that was okay. Because she was right there, helping him fix his heart, as well as her own. She wasn't alone, and she knew she did belong here now, because Jason was her other half. Once he was lost, and now he was found. She had been promised good, and like the hymn said, Amazing Grace… "I love you."


	6. Chapter 6

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter 6

JASON'S POV

He had dreamt of nothing. So far. There was just peaceful darkness as he slept. But soon, the flashbacks of war began to ease their way into his mind.

First, it started with infantry training. The hell it had been.

Next came his first encounter with the trenches.

He moaned softly in his sleep, his leg giving him pains, he had the prescription for his morphine in his breast pocket, but that's not what had mattered just mere hours ago.

What mattered was the fact that he was alive. And the fact that he could hold her in his arms again.

Back in his dream, he was sitting in a trench. Rain was pouring around his helmet and poncho. He was shivering in the cold. It's not like it had mattered, though.

It was in the evening, and he was watching the night sky, when suddenly, the sound of an explosion rattled off in the distance. Other men began yelling.

Suddenly, he was jerked up and thrusted into a stair well that went down. He began to blindly run to the sleeping quarters, which were about 100 feet below ground.

There, they waited.

The bombardment had lasted for hours upon hours. Even down 100 feet below the ground still shook. Dirt still fell from the ceiling. He still jumped with each explosion.

But what killed him the most was the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. It nearly drove him mad.

Hours later it stopped. The men slowly went back up the stairs to see parts of the trench had been blown apart, craters lay in front of the sea of barbed wires and mines.

The blood was everywhere.

Bits of flesh. Teeth. Bones. Limbs. A never ending horror story was all around him. He held back tears as he began to pick up the debris left over, and throw it all out of the sides of the trench.

Back in the outside world he was shifting around restlessly. He wasn't crying out in his sleep or screaming. Yet. He unconsciously clutched the blankets tighter around him and sighed softly, slowly drifting back into the world of sleep.

In his dream the images of cleaning the trenches suddenly shifted. It was winter, now. They were digging up a network of trenches that the Germans had used.

He drove his pickaxe into the muck and he was returned with blood and gray matter spattering his face. He looked down to see the grotesque decaying body of a German soldier.

"Shit..." he mumbled softly, and took a step back. He began to shake ever so lightly. But he couldn't let the others see.

One of his friends handed him a cigarette, and said it would help calm the nerves. Jason was never a smoker.

He lit it and put it between his lips anyway.

He was beginning to moan and shake in his sleep. The memories were just too much, and he could do little about them. But he couldn't wake up. He was trapped in his world of misery until he was able to wake up. He wished Piper would notice and wake him up. He wished that he didn't dream of the things he saw. He couldn't control his dreams; but now, he wished he did.

He suddenly jolted awake. A cry emitting from him. Tears instantly began to stream down his face, and he felt a protective pair of arms wrap around him.

NOBODY'S POV

It had been a peaceful sleep, with Piper's arms wrapped around Jason gently. She had rested her head against his chest to make sure this wasn't a dream, that this was all real. Cause if it was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. The proof of his heartbeat beating against his chest meant he was alive and there, next to her.

She felt him begin to move, shifting restlessly around. She didn't let go, and held him tighter, unafraid of his actions. She knew this might happen, that the horrors of war had followed him from the trenches.

The war hadn't just crippled him; it had scarred him. She closed her eyes as he began to reach for things unseen, his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth a thin line.

He was sweating, his legs beginning to thrash around, crying and moaning in pain. She felt her pulse rise as she tried to get him to believe he was beside her, that he was safe, but she was beginning to panic.

He came to, crying out, and she wrapped her arms tighter around him. She felt his tears soak her shoulder as he buried his face in her hair. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering comforting words as he cried. This hell would return every night, and she knew she wasn't about to let him go.

"Shh...everything is alright..." she whispered, her eyes shut softly. After moments of comforting words, his cries and tears began to disperse, turning into sniffles and tiny sobs, and even then she did not let go, until he was okay. "I love you..." she whispered, her lips brushing his forehead.

"I went to hell and back..." he whispered. "For you, Pipes..." his voice broke a little, it was nearly inaudible.

"Shhh..." she whispers, her eyes meeting his, "We're okay. We'll be okay. You're with me."

He sighed softly, letting his eyes drift shut again. It had to get better. It could only get better, right? Jason sighed shakily, and finally ended up calming down. He held Piper like she was a life line.

Like if he let go he would just fade away in the air like those men who had been blown apart. The men whom had been reduced to nothing but a red mist.

His mind began to wonder towards what would happen if he had been one of those men. He closed his eyes and shivered softly, a chill running down his spine at the thought of it.

He thought about the cold he faced in the trenches. It began to seep through the blankets they had been under. And his clothes. It chilled him to his core. The memory branded into his mind.

She felt his body begin to stiffen, his arms beginning to tense. She wrapped her arms more securely, the way she couldn't when he was away.

The many lonely nights she had faced without him. She closed her eyes, wanting to let him know she was there without words. Let him know she loved him, the way love must be. She believed love was one of the strongest forces, and it could do anything: she was raised on that principle. She ran her hand through his hair, whispering words of comfort and passion. "I'm not going anywhere." she vowed, "I promise. Not without you."

He pulled away ever so slightly to look at her. To look into those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes of hers.

How they always shined with love compassion for him. It hurt his heart to know the pain she went through when she thought he was dead. It hurt him, because it hurt her.

"I love you, Piper McLean..." he whispered ever so softly. By now the tears had stopped, the remnants were drying on his scruffy cheeks. His heart skipped a beat. His breathing was slow and calm.

Her touch always calmed him. No matter what. He slowly leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.

She heard the pain in his voice as the words echoed in her head. She had never doubted for a moment he loved her, and she could barely believe love could make inner conflict with herself. Some days love was a curse; others it was a blessing.

The shard that had pierced her heart had seemed to disperse, as he responded to his touch. His clear blue eyes gazed into her eyes, and she felt that tension that surrounded them melt away. She raised a gentle hand to his cheek,

"And I will love you, Jason Grace." She felt her lips move forward, and she pressed her lips firmly against his, the passion and sorrow she ever felt was put into that kiss.

She kept her hand on his cheek as she continued her actions. It had been too long since she felt his lips against hers.

Jason returned the kiss with as much passion and love as he could manage. It had been so, so long since they had kissed. He missed it dearly.

He didn't want to stop, either.

In fact, his movements didn't surprise Piper at all; she had actually expected this much.

This much desperation for passion after such a long battle. How many times had he woken up in the trenches? How many bombs had nearly wiped him off the face of this planet?

She felt his hands pull her closer, though they were trembling slightly. He was afraid of the world. Of the world where women would be left behind and men would be blasted off the battlefield.

A world where love still existed, it was just hard to find. She kissed him with much passion, with just as much longing: She didn't want to lose him at all.

She never wanted to leave his side, and all this was put into a single kiss. She pulled back after letting it elongate for such a time, and pressed herself into his arms, wrapping him with her arms, protecting him from his own demons.

Jason took a deep breath, sighing softly, his shaking slowing to a stop. He felt safe in her arms. Safer than ever.

He knew her love would be his salvation. If it already hadn't been, anyway.

He slowly pulled her up to him, and closed his eyes, pressing his lips to hers once more. Tonight was theirs and nothing could take that away from them. He gently pulled the blankets up around them, and finally; he relaxed.

Love was the strongest medicine.


	7. Chapter 7

From the Frontlines and Back, chapter 7

**A/N: Hello fanfiction! Hope you're enjoying the story! Sorry for only one chapter, this one took forever and we wanted to pack in a lot of fluff and angst, so yeah. Plus, if you don't mind, send good reviews? Like, we work hard to make these chapters as well as we can, so if you don't mind, at least give us some longer ones? Personal favor, thank you.**

She blinked tiredly, eye crust at the corner of her eyes. It was nearly morning, and they'd been asleep for more then ten hours. She wrapped her arms closer around him, her lips curving into a smile. She felt his warmth radiate off of him, and she buried herself in his arms, loving him even more them she thought possible. It could even unhealthy, but she didn't care. The fact remained is that she will never get tired of hearing his voice, or feeling his arms wrapped around her. Her love was massive and that nothing could surpass

Jason had slept peacefully for the rest of the night; they had both ended up tangled up in each other. After being away from her for so long it was a relief. He yawned softly and opened his eyes just a little. He was warm, and he felt much better. Like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple softly, and pulled back. "Hey, Pipes.." he whispered softly, his voice not as nearly as weak as it had been the day before. He was feeling much better today; his leg, however, ached awfully. He would get used to it, soon.

"Hey, Jason..." she replied softly, her arms tangled around him. She wrapped the blankets around them more securely, and pressed a firm but quick kiss to his lips. Quietly, she pressed her head against his chest, hearing his heart beat. She took his hand gently in her own, "How you feelin?"

"A lot better..." he replied softly, smiling a little. He took a deep breath and sighed softly, he shifted to his back and let her head rest on his now bare chest; letting her listen to his heart beat. "I slept a lot better the second time..." he murmured, playing with the locks of her hair lightly. He closed his eyes, his brain still a little foggy from just waking up. He wasn't as nearly as tired as he had been, but his leg was really bothering him. He needed to get the morphine today. He didn't think he could survive longer without it.

She smiled, a genuine smile. She closed her eyes, letting him play with her hair. It was relaxing, having him play with her locks. It forced the fact upon her that she wasn't hallucinating like the other times; where she had jumped into midair, thinking he was there to catch her, or when she would reach for his hand to grasp empty air. That had happened many times, and she was glad he wouldn't just disappear. Quietly, she moved her head, and placed her hand over his heart,  
"That's good...anything you want to...well, talk about?" she asks, turning her head to look at him. She turned his head with her other hand, showing him the expression on her face of pure joy.  
His breath hitched in his throat. He wasn't really ready to just talk about everything. Not when he just got back. He bit his lip softly, and nodded anyway. "Yeah..." he said softly. "When did you get the official condolences letter..?" he asked, his voice quiet. The heaviness returning to his shoulders.

She felt his shoulders stiffen again as his words echoed in her head. The letter. The letter that had nearly destroyed her until he showed up at her door. It had been little comfort with the General's letter, knowing he could've been thinking of her during his supposed last moments. "August 6th. Two months since you had...died..." she says, the words hitching in her throat.

He bit his lip. "They didn't know I was alive..." he said softly. "The French sent a letter. A letter stating to disregard the last one, because I was alive." he said. "I don't think it was able to get through...They tried, Pipes...They did." he put his face in his hands for a second and sighed. If was too early to talk about this yet.  
She looked at him with worry, and gently removed his hands from his face. She held his face in one of her hands, caressing it softly. "I understand...it's alright..."

He cracked a small smile he leaned into her hand a little, enjoying the affection. His leg suddenly throbbed sharply and he gasped, his hands flying down to his leg. He closed his eyes, holding in a pained moan. He cleared his throat. "Piper.." he said, keeping his voice level. "I've been prescribed morphine. We need to get that today.." he said, his voice slightly urgent.

She looked at him, her eyes wide with worry. Morphine. Usually good, but if taken in overdose has serious effects. She knew the leg he had must be killing him. She sat up quickly, already trying to hop out to get the medicine. She had already seen him in enough pain, she wouldn't witness more as long as he needed her. And he did. "I-I'll get it for you..." she says, her hands shaking slightly. She was nervous if she wasn't fast enough, the pain would be enough to make him black out, or worse. She wasn't sure how much pain could harm him, but obviously, it had major effects. "On Wellington street, right? First shop to the left? Don't get up!" she quickly said, her eyes flashing, "I can get it."

He smiled a little as the pain slowly ebbed back to it's usual dull throb. "Come on, Pipes. You think I'm letting you out of my grasp that easily? We can go together." he said. He wanted to go with her. He wanted to see the town, it had been so long since he had. He sat up a little, and surveyed the room. It looked just the way it had when he left. His clothes were still probably in the drawers. "Can you...Get me some clothes?" he asked. He hated asking for help, but with Piper he felt a little better about it. He just needed some fresh ones since the clothes he had previously been wearing were dirty.

She nodded, and sat up slowly. Her hair was a tousled mess, and she had fallen asleep in the clothes she had worn when he came home. It didn't bother her. Drifting over to the drawers, she went through them, trying to find some cleaner clothes that matched each other. She finally found a blue shirt, trousers and underwear, and she tossed them over. "While you're at it, brush you hair. It's a mess." she teases.

"What about a tie?" he asked, almost automatically. Before he was drafted, he could have cared less, but it just didn't feel right wearing button down shirts without a tie. Button downs were the only shirts he owned, really. He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes widened a little. Had it really grown that much? He would worry about that later. He dressed himself, with a bit of difficulty, and stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. He slowly went into the bathroom and turned the light on. He took one look at himself and sighed. He looked like a dirt bag. His five o'clock shadow had grown significantly, his hair was longer than it was supposed to be, it growing just past his ears, and it was sticking up everywhere. He shook his head slowly, and looked around for his long razor. He hated shaving with it, really, it was a long and sharp flat piece of metal; and he nicked himself nearly every time he used it. But he had to shave, anyway. Might as well suck it up. Once he was done, he looked a little younger. He smiled just barely at his reflection in the mirror, and washed the rememants of the shaving cream off his face and began to comb his hair back. Once he was done, he was a little more satisfied with himself. But today he would definitely be getting a haircut from the barber as well. He hobbled out on his cane, and went back to their room. There, he leaned heavily on the door frame. "Piper?" he called.

She rushed in, having dressed herself in better clothing. Wearing a long white skirt with a turquoise button down blouse. Around her neck was a golden chain, though it had no accessories or charms. Her hair was pulled back rather messily with a blue ribbon, the blue contrasting against her lush brown hair. Her eyes were full of concern as she rushed over, having looking better then before. She placed an arm around his, a smile on her face, "Yes?" she asks, looking him up and down. The growing smile was a clear sign he had cleaned up just right .

"You look beautiful." he said, with a soft smile playing on his lips. This was the Jason she had known and loved. He was barely showing himself now, but in time, he would go back to the way he was. "I'm assuming you're ready?" he asked, kissing her temple lightly. "We need to go to the barber, too. I need a haircut." he said lightly.

She laughs a little at his comments, but felt more familiar with his words. He was beginning to open up again, being reassured this was the Jason Grace she had fallen in love with. She grasped his hand tightly, and kissed his cheek softly before replying. "Of course, and yes. You most definitely need a haircut." she says, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. She knew he tried to comb it back, but seeing there was too much hair. "You don't look too bad yourself."  
He smiled, and leaned against her just a little. "Are you ready to go?" he asked. He was itching to get out of the house and see the town. Well, not entirely that. He was also itching to leave because he was in pain. He needed the morphine. He reached into the coat pocket of his coat that was hanging up and pulled out the prescription slip and placed it in his shirt pocket.

"Ready when you are, Grace." she says, grinning. Calling him by his last name was tiny banter, but it made her relax. The old days have returned almost entirely. They were together, and nothing else could change that. Except some...differences. Jason had been rendered a cripple. It would change a lot, but the entire point of their relationship was that they would never, ever be seperated again. She helped him to the door, and smiled, "Welcome home, Jason." She flung the door open, the scent of flowers and fresh clean air filled their sinuses, as the sight before them warmed her heart.  
He hid a wince as she called him by his last name. That's what you were called in the military, whatever your last name was, that became your new name. He took a deep breath of air and nearly cried with relief. This was home. The smell of flowers and wheat mixed with a cool fall breeze. The smell of home. Now, he could enjoy breathing. He sure as hell hadn't in the trenches. The smell of dirt, filth, decaying bodies, gunpowder, the metallic smell of blood and the overwhelming remnants of poison gas that hung in the air. It wasn't enough to kill, but enough to smell terrible. He sighed softly, closing his eyes for a second as they slowly stepped down off the porch.

She watched as he took his first breath of home, and the tension that seemed to arise in his body as she called him by his surname. She shook her head, reminding herself to call him Jason. Jason. Right...Jason. She smiled a bit as he relaxed, the scent of home hitting both of them hard. The world had seemed cold and dark, and every person on the street was a stranger. But now, she knew all of them, and the world turned warm and filled with light, just as it should be. Just as they should be. "Miss home?" she asks, as she walks him across their yard, though that in itself was a longer process than normal.

"Oh, I missed it a lot, Piper..." he said, his voice barely audible. "You have no idea..." The walk across the yard was grueling. It would have went much faster if it wasn't for his damned leg. Once they got to the sidewalk, it was a bit easier. Probably because it was solid ground to walk on. "Pharmacy first..." he said, his voice having a faint hint of desperation. He knew that the morphine would lessen the lain by a huge factor, and was eager to get his hands on it. Maybe a little too eager.

"Tell me." she says, as she helps him on the sidewalk. She noted the stares of men and women alike, but she was eager to ignore him. He seemed to walk faster, pushing himself. She assumed the morphine would help him, and she was keen to distract him from the looks they received as they walked the neighborhood

"You just..." he stopped for a second, choosing his words carefully. "You just get so used to the smell of the trenches you almost forget what everything else smells like." he said quietly, which was definitely true. The overwhelming smell of blood mixed with gunpowder hung in the thick, foggy smoke in the trenches and up over the top where No Man's Land lay. He took note of the people casting glances his way. He didn't nessecarily like that too much.

"So you forgot? Or was it just harder to remember what home was like?" she asks, tugging him along insistently. She wanted to get out of the sight of the many men who were now whispering as they walked by. It wasn't seen as proper if a young man was not in the war, and Jason was attracting much attention with his leg. She sighed with relief as they found the apothecary, and helped him in, giving an evil eye to those who watched them.  
"I guess I forgot." he said, after thinking about it for a moment. "You just...Forget about normal everyday things, Piper." he said. "The trenches are your home." he bit his lip a little, and went up to the counter, pulling out the prescription slip and showing it to the pharmacist. She nods, and watches as the pharmacist hands him the morphine, her hands shaking slightly. If he was so relieved to smell simple clean air, though it must've been red mist instead of air in the trenches, how did he feel when she answered the door? She squeezed his hand gently.  
He gently took the morphine out if her shaky hands and put it in his coat, and gently squeezed her hand back. He then began to make his way to the door, wanting to go to the barber shop next to get all of his hair cut back into what he had the day he left.  
She smiled at him gently as they walked out, his movements less jerky and more fluid. The anxious expression on his face has disappeared. They continued to the barber shop, and she helped him into one of the chairs. She chatted casually with the barber, who then asked why he wasn't over in the trenches, blowing up Huns.  
He cleared his throat uncomfortable. Surely the barber would understand. "I did my time in the trenches, sir." he said, shifting around. "I have to walk with a cane now, because of it. "I have to walk with a cane now." he said softly.

The barber looked at him with a suspicious glare, and merely told Piper to take a seat as he began to cut his hair, making small talk about his time. Piper sat an uncomfortable distance away, fidgeting slightly. The barber cut his hair back to the shortness that it was at the day he left. A nice clean cut, that got all the hair that was around his ears and the sides of his head. Jason stood up, and thanked the barber, and paid him. She walked over, a gentle smile on her face. She ran a hand through his hair, nodding in approval.

"Handsome, Grace." she says, and links her arm through his, and helping him out of the shop. She smiles as they face the day again, him at her side. They would've done this more often if he hadn't left. She placed. She helped him along for a good ten minutes, making about the familiar town. The small park where children would play. The group of women who would walk together, making small talk. She kissed his cheek softly, telling him, "Well, not much has changed in a year-" She stoppes abruptly, however, when a man with an angry look upon his face interrupted them. "What's a young man like you doing here?" he asks rudely, "You should be fighting Huns, rather then courting a young woman."

Jason was someone who usually kept his cool when dealing with people like the man in front of him. Something bubbled up inside him, he didn't know what. His face turned red and he stood up a little straighter. He did not go into the trenches to be confronted by some rude older man like this. He suddenly let the cane fall, and grabbed the man by his shirt and jerked him forward. "What are you doing here, then?" he snarled. "I fought over in France and Belgium for a year in those trenches. What have you done?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and dripping with malice. "Maybe you should think twice before saying something like that to a man who walks with a cane like me? Why don't you go over there and almost die like I did before showing me any disrespect? Do that, and then we'll talk." Jason shoved the man away and snatched his cane up, fighting the urge to hit the other man with it.

Her heart skipped a beat as Jason nearly lost control. He had always been able to keep his temper before, but this was way out of character. She held his arm tightly, a glare on her face as well. This man had no respect for Jason, who had lost his leg and his near sanity, but she couldn't afford to lose control either. She turned them both to walk away, her head held high, before she heard the man say quietly, "At least I'm not a coward."

She could not control the gasp that escaped her lips, and prayed that Jason hadn't heard it as well, but that was a long shot

Jason lost it. He snatched his cane up, despite the difficulty, and suddenly slammed his fist into the side of the man's head, putting all of his anger behind it. He did not go into the trenches and watch his friends; his brothers, die in front of him to be disrespected by some piece of shit like this.  
She widened her eyes, and grabbed his arms, trying desperately to pull him back. "Jason! JASON!" she screams, having difficulty to pull him back. Another man came forward to help her, his sea green eyes flashing with anger. "Stop it!" she yelled.

He blinked, and then relaxed; his usual calmness coming back to him. "Maybe that'll teach you a thing or two about respect." he spat; although his voice had lost most of its venom. He allowed himself to be pulled back, and he gripped his cane tightly in his hand. She held him close to her, holding his face in her hands.  
"Jason..." she said, her voice breaking. The look in her eyes were one of terror and fear; he had scared her with his loss of control. She gripped him tightly, her eyes staring into his, hoping to find something that'll tell her what went wrong. What made him crack.

His eyes were filled with anger and malice. The urge to kill shone brightly. He had lost control of himself and he hadn't meant to. He shook his head. He said nothing, almost ashamed to open his mouth. Part of him screamed that the disrespectful man deserved what he got, and the other part screamed that the man didn't know. He sighed softly, gently pulling himself away from her and stood, leaning on his cane a little with his free hand in his pocket. He was shaking slightly.  
She watched as he tried to speak, but couldn't. 'What must be running through his head' she thought, and looked down at the ground. She let him stand there, alone with his thoughts, before taking his free hand in hers. She ran her thumb down the back his scarred hand, her finger smooth against the roughness. "It's okay..." she whispered, "It's okay..."

He began to slowly continue walking, but didn't move his hand out of hers. It anchored him for some reason. Calmed him. He didn't relax, however. He just kept walking in silence. His little outburst has ruined the mood. Piper held his hand the entire walk, knowing to speak would ruin them once more. She led him back home, the sky becoming dark. She knew she should give him some space, but she wanted to comfort him; be with him. That was all she wanted.

He opened the door to their house and stepped inside once they had got up the steps, and sat down in a chair, rubbing his leg lightly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the paper bag filled with the medicine. He looked inside and saw enough medicine for a month. He smiled softly. There were about ten small tin boxes, and when he opened one, he found three syringes, and the syringes were all empty. He dug around and found three vials containing the liquid and nodded in approval. "There's enough for an entire month in here..." he murmured softly, trying to forget about the previous ordeal.

She sat across from him, watching as he fiddled with the morphine. She smiled a bit, watching as a look of relief flooded his face. She stood, walking over to the gramophone she owned. She turned her back, as she took out a small record, placing the disc on the gramophone. Lifting the needle, it took a few seconds before the song began to play. He closed his eyes for a second as the gramophone began to play. It had been so long since he had heard music. The sounds he was so used to was the screaming on the radio as men were calling for reinforcements. It was a relief, really. He looked up at her and smiled softly, and set the bag down. He grabbed his cane and slowly stood up.

She offered her hand, as the sweet voices registered in her head. She was never much of a singer, but her father had attempted to teach her how to waltz before he had died. She took his hand, and placed it on her waist, and took the other in her own. He chuckled softly, his earlier feelings of anger immediately melted.

"Would you just look at us, Pipes..." he said, the soft smile returning to his lips as they began to clumsily dance. Jason failed at it, he really did. It was hard dancing with a half dead leg. He couldn't dance like he used to. The small joys they used to share, they would have to overcome.  
She smiled at the sweet sound of "Will you Remember." A song from the recent hit musical Maytime, though she never got to see it. Quietly, she lead him, a clumsy smile on her face every time he faltered. They melted into a dance, a stuttering waltz, around the common room. Her eyes were bright with amusement, and she felt a warm feeling float inside of her, cause this was just them. "At least we're not two worlds apart..." she whispered.

"Yeah..." he said softly, stumbling every now and then as his leg grew weaker with the effort of trying to keep up. He had almost forgotten how they had danced together so many times before. "Now we can dance all we want..." he murmured softly, laughing again. Piper laughed at his words, her voice like a bell. She helped him around the particularly difficult furniture in the way, and led him in their waltz. "I...missed doing this, y'know..." she murmured during the musical instrumental, "I missed being able to dance."

"I missed it, too..." he said, the small smile still playing on his lips as they danced. They were slowly closing the space between them as the song went on.

Their feet moved to the slow beat of the song, and finally, when the horns and the trumpets slowly faded out, leaving them in silence, she reached up and gently held his cheek in her hand, "I love you...Jason Grace..." she whispered, her voice barely audible

"...And I love you, Piper McLean." he whispered back, and he slowly leaned in, pressing his lips firmly to hers.

She tilted her head as he pressed his lips to hers, and slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. A warm, syrupy feeling filled her as the kiss elongated, her heart near ready to burst. This was all she needed, she had missed this...she knew he deserved this love. The kiss sure felt like an eternity to Jason. He wished it would last that long, anyway. He just let the kiss drag on. Like he wanted it.

She felt him respond even more, and she pulled him closer, her kiss becoming more passionate with every passing second: She had missed him too much. Jason stifled a yawn, and he was brought back to reality as his leg throbbed painfully from use. He took a deep breath. "Piper..." he murmured, hating to break up the moment. "Morphine..."

She felt a sudden jolt as he said the word. He needed it. She reminded herself quietly to keep a supply wherever she goes, just in case he forgot some. She rushes over and fills one of the syringes with the clear liquid. Returning to his side, she handed the syringe to him

He slowly limped into the bathroom and rolled his sleeve up, and bit his lip as he gently pushed the needle into the vein in his arm and pushed the plunger down. Within a few minutes, he visibly relaxed and sighed with relief from the pain. She waited outside of the bathroom, rubbing her thumbs together. She was worried about him, mostly if he was in pain. If he was in pain, it hurt her, because she couldn't do anything about it.

He came back out, the syringe properly disposed of, and smiled. You could tell he was relieved of his pain. She smiled as he came back, happy to see him without pain. She caressed his cheek, staring into his eyes that eminated happiness. "You alright?"

He nodded, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist, a small smile playing on his lips. His eyes were shining brightly, but they also revealed fatigue. She noticed the tiredness in his eyes, and felt a sad smile appear on her face. She had to let him rest. "You tired?"

He nodded, accepting defeat. He wouldn't have been able to hide it, anyway. "Yeah, Pipes. I'm tired."

She smiled as he led them to the bedroom. The days would go on, of ridicule and hatred, but she knew in the end, they'd be together, and face it all together. She put her hand in his, as the world fell into fire, and she'd be by his side as he rested and as he fought, because she'd never leave his side ever again. "Me too, Jason." she said softly as his arms wrapped around her body, and she nuzzled her cheek close to his, "Me too..."


End file.
